“Ahh…” Franklin and Caroline sigh in unison.
“You poor thing,” Caroline coos, from what sounds like, right next to me. Her hand rubbing my back, confirms my guess.
“The day we’re anything like them would be the day our bodies are inhabited by aliens or the devil,” Franklin says for the other side.
My Beau shield disappears—that traitor—before I’m wrapped in a parental group hug. I relax after a few seconds and accept the hug. I’ll give Beau’s parents credit, they’ve eased my turmoil. Strengthening, I stand straight and my eyes connect with green, then hazel eyes. The Scotts are an attractive couple.
Franklin gives me those big, good hug vibes like Beau, and Caroline looks like she’s given Beau all his “fight for justice” vibes. Both are sharply dressed and have smiles that are genuine. Caroline’s hand finds my belly and the baby high fives her.
“You may not be able to feel it yet but he says ‘hello.’”
Caroline’s eyes water like she’s about to cry and Franklin pats my back.
“A grandson! Man, I have so many things planned!”
“I’m sorry for hiding. I’m not usually so jumpy it’s just—”
“The Chesterfields,” They say in unison again.
I laugh. “Right.”
“I’m not trying to be insensitive but—” Apparently, Caroline is the straight shooter.
“She hasn’t touched Wes in well over a year,” Beau supplies from the table as he puts out the food.
Her entire face relaxes as the grandparent excitement returns. “Perfect!” she exclaims.
“Let me help you with that,” I offer Beau.
“Nope. You catch up with my parents.”
Caroline grabs my hand and leads me to the couch. We sit, and I'm effectively placed in a parental sandwich.
“You’re so pretty, Celeste,” Caroline says as she plays with one of my curls. She immediately drops it and folds her hands. “Sorry. I saw somewhere that black women hate that.”
I giggle because I didn’t expect her to say that. “It’s fine. It’s a pet peeve for some. I’ve never paid attention, and my hair isn’t touched often. I think the issue is when a stranger does it like…” I search my head for an example. “When someone walks up out of nowhere and asks to touch your hair is almost like when you walk up to someone and say, ‘Can I pet your dog?’”
Franklin’s “Ah” merges with Caroline’s “I see what you mean.”
“Yeah, so some will be like, ‘sure’ and tell you all about it and others will say, ‘get away from me’—or in this example—my dog. But I didn’t get that feeling from you because Beau does the same thing.”
She smiles. “It’s something about the way it bounces back. My hair is all over the place, so I keep it straight.” She runs her finger through the right side. “This side is wavy, while the other is curlier.”
In turn, I touch hers because it’s shiny and looks really soft. “You must have a great routine because your hair is in excellent condition despite daily straightening.”
“You must come to my place with me! They’ll pamper us like crazy and have the best drinks.” She laughs at her own words. “Well, you’ll have to wait for the drinks. I know! We can go next weekend.”
I cringe at her words and hurt flashes in her eyes.
“She’s still hiding from Wes,” Beau jumps in. “We’re trying to figure out what to do about him before she goes out in public. We have a spa in the building, though.”
“We can do that,” she agrees, appeased.
“I would have invited my parents but he’s having them followed. I’d gotten him to back off for a little while, but he’s back up to his nonsense.”
“And what nonsense is that?” Franklin askes with disapproval coloring his words.
We settle at the table while Beau and I relay the entire sordid tale of abuse and bullying. Caroline has lost some of her color by the end.
